#future romance

And it took you five whole minutes, to pack us up and leave me with it. Holding all this love out here in the hall…

It was light when she woke again, surrounded not by cold this time but rather comfort. Ellen’s feeling of painless nothingness was pretty much gone, leaving her feeling light and weightless. But there was oddly warmth, comfort, and softness. She rose and looked around, her senses coming to life again one by one. Ellen didn’t know this place and yet there was a strange sense of familiarity. The room was akin to a dream, or maybe something she had seen in one a long time ago. It inspired that weird, familiar feeling: a feeling that this had happened before. That she had been here before. 

There was the overall lack of color in the stone walled room. Everything looked so…dull and gray. The curtains surrounding the bed were a deep burgundy, but they were covered in a thick layer of dust…or at least Ellen thought was dust at first. When she touched the curtain, it was like touching winter’s first frost. That was definitely not dust…

She pulled her hand back, almost painfully. No, not pain. Not really. She was just surprised. Ellen knew she wasn’t supposed to feel anything. She was…

She couldn’t even bring herself to think it, let alone say it. Her memory was a bit fuzzy, like looking through a dusty window, but she remembered how everything felt. It was coming back, slowly but surely as she gained more awareness, as each of her senses came to life…or perhaps unlife was the better term. 

There was something warm at her feet, something soft. Something…breathing? What did anything here have any need for breath? How curious…

She was almost afraid to look, but was pleasantly surprised when she did. A large black dog laid at her feet, curled up as if attempting to keep them warm. He was shaggy, with long hair and a rather large yet strong body. The ears were triangular, relaxed in a sleeping state and yet so acutely aware. Curious and a little afraid, Ellen reached a hand out to touch the sleeping dog at her feet, moving a little so she could pet his fur. He wasn’t cold, unlike the rest of the room it seemed. It felt like he was…alive almost. She heard a soft ruff from the animal and pulled her hand away as he raised his head. Her eyes found the silver-gold orbs of the canine, and he let out a soft whine. 

“Hello there, beauty” Ellen reached her hand out again and petted the dog softly between his ears, “Were you with me this whole time?” she asked, as if he could answer. 

The dog wagged his tail, panting softly as if to tell her he did in fact stay with her. He was awfully calm and gentle for such a large animal. Ellen wasn’t used to dogs, though she had a few of them growing up. Felines were more of her interest, as she liked their independent nature. However, she wouldn’t deny that there was indeed a sort of charm to this dog in particular. 

“Such a good boy. Thank you” Ellen whispered softly as she petted his back and shoulders, “Now I just…need to figure out where I am”. 

She stretched a little and got up, finally pulling the frosted burgundy curtain aside to finally get a glimpse of the room. Just like the rest of the world, it was so…dreary. Everything seemed to be dipped in varying shades of blue and gray. But it seemed the room had everything Ellen needed: bed, wardrobe, a rather nice if antique vanity, a small bookcase full of various books, on top of which were, strangely, various tiny figurines and dolls from her childhood. Things Ellen thought she forgot a long, long time ago. Literally a lifetime ago in this case. 

“A place where things go when they’re forgotten, perhaps” Ellen wondered aloud as she stood from the bed, the dog following close behind her. 

She touched one of the figurines, a little fairy in a white dress with dark hair. Her father had gotten it for her, calling it a miniature version of her. Ellen remembered she had thought that humorous as a child, but now it seemed he hadn’t been completely wrong. To be honest, she didn’t know exactly what she was anymore, nor was she entirely sure it mattered now. 

Not now. Not that she was…

She still couldn’t bring herself to think it. Guilt fed like a ravenous beast in the back of her mind. She had left Thomas. She chose the monster who plagued her for her entire life over him. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right. But at the same time, it had to be done. She had to do it, to end the beast’s reign of terror.

A harsh blast of cold pulled her from her gnawing guilt, her thoughts stopping for all of a moment, before she knew: She wasn’t alone, and it wasn’t just the dogs. Ellen held the figurine tightly in her hand, as though somehow it would protect her. It couldn’t be…could it? She watched him perish. 

Held him as he perished…

The memory of that last, final moment, that last breath ran through her mind. Ellen held him, trying to somehow convey thoughts of comfort and reassurance despite the pain he felt. 

“It’s okay…” she remembered thinking, “It’s okay…we’re together now…let go…let go…” She remembered thinking as the beast, the Count, bled out all over her and her bed.

Ellen blinked, her thoughts coming back to the present. She dared not turn around, the dog at her feet staying close by, but not as guarded. She closed her eyes tight, trying to think of something that didn’t scare her. There was no way he could be here…surely there wasn’t…

“You are…awake” his voice was an all too familiar sound, though it sounded different now. 

He sounded different. Gone was the deep wheezing caused by lungs that no longer functioned. The growl was still there but not as prominent. The accent was the same, and it was still slightly monotone…slightly. It wasn’t unpleasant, per se. Just…something Ellen wanted to leave behind her. But it seemed the higher powers, who or whatever they were, had some other ill plan for her and the Beast. 

“Get out…” Ellen said quietly, not even looking at him. 

She could feel his ice cold glare at her back. “You…do not…command me-”. 

“I said get out…now!” Ellen dared to cut him off with a harsher tone. 

She heard a growl, but didn’t dare turn around. She would not look at him, refused to face him. The large black dog laid quiet at her feet, ears flat, torn between two masters. Ellen shook her head, her eyes closed tight as if she were in some sort of nightmare. 

“Shall you deny me now?! After everything I’ve done?! After I pulled you from Chaos?! This is my repayment?!” the Beast demanded, “After what you did to me?!” 

“I had to do it. To save everyone…” she said, “You would’ve killed everyone! Everyone! And i was supposed to sit there idle and let you-”. 

“Ah still a neat little trick you do little one…You close off your mind and lies spew from your mouth like venom!” 

“I’m not lying!”

“About your intentions! You didn’t do what you did to save everyone. You joined with me because you wanted to”. 

“And once more you are a deceiver! If I have a serpent’s venom, then you speak with a serpent’s tongue!” . 

“And once more you deceive only yourself, suflet mic!”. 

Ellen shuddered at the nickname. “Don’t you ever call me that again! You lost the right to call me that years ago!”. 

Suflet mic…

It meant “Little Soul” in Romanian. He had once used it as a term of endearment for her, when they first found each other. He hadn’t called her that in years, not since he stopped coming to her after she married Thomas. 

A cold silence overtook the room. The air was icy with both his presence and her hatred. Ellen trembled from the sheer force of it. Her hands balled into fists, even around the little fairy figurine. 

“I said leave. You are not welcome in this space…you will NEVER be welcome in this space!” Ellen yelled, tempted to turn around and throw the figurine at him. However, she refrained…just barely. 

Without her permission, he couldn’t stay in her room, her space. This was hers and hers alone. It was one of the few rules of this place: Neither could enter the other’s space once it was established to them without consent. He stepped away from her, his footfall heavy. The Beast peered down at the black dog. 

“Furie, ține-o în siguranță…” He commanded as he left the room, compelled by this strange realm’s magic and rules. 

The dog, Furie apparently, barked in response. He would be her faithful guardian, not that there was much that could harm her here. But even so…the last thing he needed was Ellen finding her way back to the waters of Chaos. 

Away from Him…

And ultimately lost to time…

The thought disturbed Orlok in a way he had never known. To be dead was one thing, but to be lost and forgotten was a whole other fear. Chaos could take him if fate demanded, but he would not spend eternity where she wasn’t there. He told her Ever Eternally…and he meant it. She was his until Chaos decided to call for them both. If and when that ever happened…

这篇文章会充斥着诸如“乱伦”和“强奸”之类的骇人禁忌，目的就是为了进一步凸显男主角有多么可怕，相比之下，可爱的小伟伟就只是在那里，我也不知道该怎么形容她🤷‍♀️

（CAS）合著者简介：故事的主角罗征是一位符合现代世界标准的优等生（学霸），就读于北京大学，但也曾在清华大学就读（哈哈，有人因此感到自卑吗？哈哈😀就像你父母拿来和你比较的那个表哥/堂哥）。但你猜猜他的专业是什么？噔噔噔 是心理学。罗征心如石头，无疑是个绝对主义者（认为目的可以证明手段的正当性，没有丝毫含糊），同时也是个虚无主义者。他从小就表现出残忍的本性，由于出生在一个相当贫困的家庭，他从未有机会被送进精神病院，甚至从未接受过任何检查。他童年时杀害小动物的行为也总是被轻描淡写地带过。

刘九的CAS 2：关于武林中的罗征：“由于权力至上，官府早已衰落，罗征行事更加肆无忌惮。”为了所谓的“更大利益”，罗征不惜一切代价，甚至杀害无辜者，以取乐于看到他人的痛苦。他以折磨他人为乐，享受恐惧的滋味。他外表俊朗，内心却冷酷无情。他谎话连篇，欺骗他人，利用信任，败坏他人的道德。

罗正堪称模范学生的典范。他的学业成绩无可挑剔——既是北京大学的学子，又成功完成了清华大学严苛的课程体系。在他人眼中，他就是自律精神的化身——思维敏锐、沉着冷静，注定成就非凡。

作为北京顶尖精神病院最年轻的实习医生之一，他耗费数年研究人类行为，剖析情感时精准得如同解剖玻璃标本。

在小组项目中，他是永远可靠的记录者——教室窗边那个值得信赖的身影。当主任医师称赞他的“共情能力”时，他总以礼貌的微笑回应。永远可靠，永远是倾诉对象，永远微笑得恰到好处，永远耐心倾听——可他的心却如死水般平静。如同深夜刷社交动态——无数面孔，零情感联结。

罗正无疑是顶级档案管理员——当他在校园演讲《行正道》时，礼堂地板上闪耀着奖章。他微笑着握着话筒，那完美弧度经年磨砺，令家长们推搡孩子低语：“要像他这样。”实则他心如灰烬般冰冷——空洞得如同他填满的奖杯柜。他记得生物课解剖青蛙时，看着它们死后仍在跳动的心脏，顿悟人类亦无二致：不过是等待他手术刀的容器。

他经营人际关系如同培育毒兰——诱惑教授，勾引对手的女友，只为看他们的世界崩塌。曾有次，他说服一位抑郁的同窗——那个早已忘却姓名的女孩——相信自杀是她唯一高贵的抉择。隔着冒热气的茶杯低语：“你的痛苦是赠予他人的礼物。”当她从清华图书馆楼顶坠落时，罗正出席了葬礼。听着她母亲撕心裂肺的哭喊，他竟感到一阵快意。没有愧疚。永远不会。

然而两件事阻碍了他彻底沉溺幻想：一只被迫收养的老猫，以及室友周伟——那个令人作呕的欢快气泡。周伟集罗正厌恶的一切于一身：乐观、永恒的微笑，以及令人不安的敏锐洞察力。周伟常提着热气腾腾的饺子闯进罗正精心布置的房间，喋喋不休地聊着校园八卦，而罗正脑中正计算着压碎她气管所需的力道。但周伟总用天真的眼神化解他的暗示，只留下莫名的不安——既令人厌恶又充满诱惑。

那只猫比周伟更令人头疼。至少周伟能用冷眼驱赶——但这只生灵是三年前寒冬里罗正从垃圾桶后发现的冰冻怪物，毛发焦黄如烙印，眼眸却透着翡翠般的寒光。每当他踏进公寓，猫便嘶嘶低吼，却偏要蜷在课本上，在描述解离性障碍的书页上留下橘黄绒毛。他曾两度萌生溺毙它的念头——一次在期末考周，它哀嚎声打断了他对反社会人格障碍标准的背诵——但深夜里那具瘦骨嶙峋的身体压在他腿上的重量，却莫名牵动他的心弦。这份软弱令他感到自己可憎地人性化。

这只猫渐渐让他对所研究的动物虐杀案例愈发反感——尤其是受害者是猫时。它加深了他对人类的厌恶，特别是虐待动物者，尤其是虐待猫的人。他憎恶这只橘猫重塑了他扭曲的思维。想到可能失去它，胸骨后便泛起阵阵不安的瘙痒。他喂它昂贵的鲔鱼，只为见证它事后的漠然。

直到某个阴雨绵绵的周二，当老猫蜷卧膝头酣睡时，那个念头再度浮现。他正翻阅拉康精神分析文本，熟悉的重量突然侧倒，浅浅的呼吸骤然停止。罗正凝视着凌乱的橘色毛发，凝固的寂静令人窒息。寒意蔓延至胸口——那不是悲伤，而是突如其来的强烈侵犯感。他从未同意过这场失去。他手指攥紧僵硬的猫身，关节泛白。无声地将它轻轻放入临时棺木，内衬那条它总偷走的羊绒毯，旁边放着未开封的金枪鱼罐头——那罐他终究没来得及喂给它的鱼。独自埋葬爱猫时，他徒手在宿舍后院孤零零的枫树下挖掘，泥土沾满修剪整齐的指甲。灰云下雷声轰鸣，雨水浸透他薄薄的白衬衫。整个世界仿佛都在为他哭泣。数小时后，伟伟发现他蜷缩在泥泞中，沉默不语。“罗哥？”伟伟的声音哽咽。罗正没有转身，只是盯着湿漉漉的泥土：“走开。”

那夜，他再度梦见解剖幼猫的场景，手术刀寒光闪烁——惊醒时浑身汗湿，胃里翻江倒海。

校园里为梁教授举行的追悼会庄严肃穆——香烟如幽灵的手指在哭泣的学生头顶袅袅升腾。罗正独自伫立，领口硬挺抵着喉咙，目光如掠食者般扫视人群。伟伟徘徊在菊花花圈旁，泪痕斑驳的脸颊紧攥着梁教授的相框，颤抖的指尖轻抚着玻璃。“他那么善良，”他哽咽着对哭泣的学妹低语，声音嘶哑。罗正将那双颤抖的手——*软弱*——铭记于心，随即转身离去。上周梁教授从图书馆楼梯坠亡的事故……颇具警示意义。那人发现了罗正伪造的心理治疗记录。可惜他的手杖在湿滑的大理石上失手滑落。

雨滴打湿街道，罗正归家途中，潮湿空气如汗渍丝绸般黏腻。他驻足于宿舍楼前孤零零的枫树下，新翻的泥土仍印着过小的坟墓轮廓。牛津鞋沾满泥泞——污秽侵蚀着光洁皮革。他猛地用鞋底刮擦树皮，想象脚跟下脊椎碎裂的声响。猫的消失并非悲伤，而是债务。而债务，必须偿还。

ENG

"In a game with no consequences, why are you still playing the 'Good' side?"

Evil modern day psychopath in a Wuxia world vs Another modern day person (normal) in the Wuxia world as the villain.

This will be a article filled with horrid taboos like Inc3st and R@pe all to build up even further how horrible the main MC is, compared to cutie pie WW who’s just, there, I don’t know 🤷‍♀️

(CAS) Co Author Synopsis : the story is about the MC Luo Zheng who is a modern world standard Star Student (Xueba) and is a Peking university student but has also done rounds at Tsinghua (haha, anyone feeling inferior? LOL 😀the cousin you’re parents compare you to) But take a wild, WILD guess what his major is, dun dun dun ITS PSYCHOLOGY. Luo Zheng has a heart of stone and is undoubtedly a Mortal Absolutist (believes the ends always justify the means, no nuance) and also a Nihilist, he’s exhibited cruelty from a young age and since he was born into a mostly disprivileged home he’s never had the chance to be thrown into a mental institution or even checked out and his childhood murders of small animals have always just been brushed off.

CAS 2 from Liu9 : About Luo Zheng in the martial world : “His actions are less held back because power is the only law and the government has long plummeted,” Luo Zheng kills anyone who opposes him, even innocents, to achieve a "greater good." And derives pleasure from others' pain. Tortures victims for sport, enjoys watching fear. He has a charming façade, but hides ruthless calculation. Lies, gaslights, and exploits trust, and actively corrupts others' morals.

—

Luo Zheng epitomized the model student. His academic record was impeccable—a student at Peking University who had also successfully completed Tsinghua University's rigorous curriculum. To others, he embodied the spirit of self-discipline—sharp-minded, composed, and destined for extraordinary achievement.

As one of the youngest interns at Beijing's premier psychiatric hospital, he spent years studying human behavior, dissecting emotions with the precision of a glass specimen.

In group projects, he was the perpetually dependable note-taker—that reliable figure by the classroom window. When the chief physician praised his “empathy,” he always responded with a polite smile. Always dependable, always the confidant, always smiling just right, always listening patiently—yet his heart remained as still as stagnant water. Like scrolling through social feeds late at night—countless faces, zero emotional connection.

Luo Zheng was undoubtedly the ultimate archivist—when he delivered his campus lecture “Walking the Right Path,” the auditorium floor shimmered with medals. He smiled as he gripped the microphone, its perfect curve honed over years, prompting parents to nudge their children and whisper, “Be like him.” Yet his heart was as cold as ashes—as hollow as the trophy cabinet he filled. He remembered dissecting frogs in biology class, watching their hearts beat even after death, realizing humans were no different: mere vessels awaiting his scalpel.

He cultivated relationships like nurturing poisonous orchids—charming professors, luring rivals' girlfriends—all to witness their worlds shatter. Once, he convinced a depressed classmate—a girl whose name he’d long forgotten—that suicide was her only noble choice. Whispering across a steaming teacup: “Your pain is a gift to others.” When she fell from the roof of Tsinghua’s library, Luo attended the funeral. He listened to her mother’s heart wrenching screams—a raw, visceral sound—and felt a shiver of pleasure. Not guilt. Never guilt.

Yet two things prevented him from fully drowning in his fantasies: an old cat he’d been forced to adopt, and his roommate Zhou Wei—that nauseating bubble of cheer. Zhou Wei embodied everything Luo Zheng despised: optimism, perpetual smiles, and an unsettlingly sharp insight. Zhou Wei would often burst into Luo Zheng's meticulously arranged room carrying steaming dumplings, chattering incessantly about campus gossip while Luo Zheng mentally calculated the force needed to crush her windpipe. Yet Zhou Wei always defused his subtle threats with an innocent gaze, leaving behind an inexplicable unease—both repulsive and strangely alluring.

The cat was more troublesome than Zhou Wei. At least Zhou Wei could be shooed away with a cold stare—but this creature was a frozen monster Luo Zheng had found behind a trash bin three winters ago, its fur scorched yellow like a brand, its eyes gleaming with an emerald coldness. Whenever he entered the apartment, the cat hissed and growled, yet stubbornly curled up on his textbooks, leaving orange fluff on the pages describing dissociative disorders. Twice he'd considered drowning it—once during finals week when its wails interrupted his recitation of antisocial personality disorder criteria—yet the weight of that emaciated body pressing against his legs late at night inexplicably tugged at his heartstrings. This weakness made him feel disgustingly human.

The cat gradually deepened his revulsion toward the animal cruelty cases he studied—especially when cats were the victims. It amplified his loathing for humanity, particularly animal abusers, especially those who mistreated cats. He hated how this orange cat reshaped his twisted thoughts. The mere thought of losing it sent waves of uneasy itching behind his breastbone. He fed it expensive tuna, only to witness its utter indifference afterward.

Until one drizzly Tuesday, as the old cat curled asleep on his lap, the thought surfaced again. He was flipping through Lacan's psychoanalytic texts when the familiar weight suddenly tilted sideways, its shallow breathing abruptly ceasing. Luo Zheng stared at the disheveled orange fur, the frozen silence suffocating. A chill spread through his chest—not sorrow, but a sudden, intense sense of violation. He had never consented to this loss. His fingers clenched the stiff cat's body, knuckles turning white. Silently, he placed it gently into the makeshift coffin, lined with the cashmere blanket it always stole, beside an unopened can of tuna—the fish he never got to feed it. Burying his beloved cat alone, he dug with his bare hands beneath a solitary maple tree in the dormitory backyard, soil caking his neatly trimmed nails. Thunder rumbled beneath gray clouds, rain soaking through his thin white shirt. The whole world seemed to weep for him. Hours later, Weiwei found him curled in the mud, silent. “Brother Luo?” Weiwei's voice cracked. Luo Zheng didn't turn, only stared at the wet earth: “Go away.”

That night, he dreamt again of dissecting a kitten, the scalpel's cold gleam flashing—he woke drenched in sweat, his stomach churning violently.

The memorial service for Professor Liang on campus was solemn and dignified—cigarette smoke rose like ghostly fingers above the heads of weeping students. Luo Zheng stood alone, his stiff collar pressing against his throat, scanning the crowd with predatory eyes. Weiwei lingered beside the chrysanthemum wreath, his tear-streaked cheeks clutching Professor Liang's photo frame, trembling fingertips lightly caressing the glass. “He was so kind,” he choked out to a sobbing junior, his voice hoarse. Luo Zheng etched those trembling hands—weakness—into his memory before turning away. Last week's incident where Professor Liang fell to his death from the library stairs... held a stark warning. That man had discovered Luo Zheng's forged therapy records. Too bad his cane slipped from his grasp on the wet marble.